


Everything is Blue

by HobblyWobbly



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Dream character study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Platonic Hand Holding, Platonic Relationships, Touch-Starved, ish?, its happy enough, mans just needs a hug, no beta we die like wilbur, vaguely set after tommy's exile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobblyWobbly/pseuds/HobblyWobbly
Summary: Ghostbur hums, now lying on his back with his face turned upwards, arms crossed behind his head, a leg thrown across a propped knee with his shoe relatively close to Dream’s head. “Why are you here?”“...to think.” Comes Dream’s dry response. He doesn’t feel like talking, he’d rather sit by himself until the sun came up, but he can’t bring himself to tell Ghostbur. “I…” Is he seriously thinking of confiding in a ghost? He chuckles, a hand lifting to hover over his mouth. “I think I’m…”“Lonely?” The two make eye contact. Ghostbur’s eyes are nothing but an endless void, yet Dream swears the ghost is staring into his soul, reading his emotions as if they were words written onto paper, a book all about Dream that was stored away with all the other books he kept close to his heart, to never forget of the world and its people around him. After a moment, he begins wringing grey, translucent hands together restlessly, eyes darting about the cliffside. “I come here when I feel lonely too.”Dream regrets things he has said, things he never did. Ghostbur is just here to help.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 30
Kudos: 336





	Everything is Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leafdragon117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leafdragon117/gifts).



Night had fallen fast upon the land. Little more than an hour ago, the sky was painted with lively hues of red, orange, and pinks, but all colors had faded in the blink of an eye leaving only a somber black canvas with no stars to be looked upon, the moon hidden behind thick clouds. The darkness was so thick that the torch carried in Dream’s hand hardly lit the path around him that led up the cliff, only allowing him to see, at most, an arm’s length in front of himself, and the mask that covered his face only made his sight worse.

Other than the darkness and himself, all that seemed to exist was the chilly air that's harsh bite could be felt through his poncho, the slow falling snow settling onto his still shoulders. On the way over he could hear the echoed grumbles of zombies and chatter of skeleton bones but now, after a well-timed arrow into their skulls and an axe into their chests, silence fell over the cliff, quiet enough that he could hear the crunches his boots made when they hit the snow. 

Dream could feel the hairs on his arms raise and the bite of the wind had left its mark in the form of small bumps that were tingling on his arms, but its bite was more than flesh deep. His blood ran cold through his veins and his bones were chilled. He wondered that, if he stood still long enough, he may become frozen. It was a poor decision coming out in just his poncho and skin-tight bodysuit but now that he was here, sitting atop the cliff, waves crashing against the sharp rocks far below him, he couldn’t be damned.

With practiced ease, Dream unclips the strap and lifts his mask, snowflakes kissing the careless blue and orange band-aids that had been plastered over all the cracks, setting it beside him, snowflakes skimming across his flushed and freckled cheeks. 

_“You really should stop getting into fights with others. I'm running out of bandages for you.”_ George had chastised him, wrapping bandages around his wounded, shaking hands. Sapnap placed another band-aid along a crack from Techno’s axe, the two truly believing it could help keep the mask in one piece. Dream had just laughed and let them do as they wished, another blue band-aid being wrapped around the edge. He thought about tearing them off after everything, but as he stared at himself in the mirror, the blue and orange standing out against the cream mask, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

 _You’re just hoping they’ll come back,_ his brain supplies. Lately, in the quiet, desolate times like this, his mind would speak up, the voices he had long since believed to be gone now back. How ironic his only company these days was himself.

His breath is pale against the numbing air. He blinks thoughtfully as the frost patiently kisses his face, captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sit heavy on his eyelashes. It was a gloomy sight that did nothing to help his current state, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He breathes out, slow and steady, the straps to his mask hanging precariously off his fingers, staring up into the endless sea of night. One second passed. Two seconds passed. Three seconds passed.

 _“I don’t give a FUCK about anything- I only care about your disks.”_ It felt like the right thing to say, at the moment, and his anger had only been fueled by the pure _fear_ put into the eyes of the ones who dared to threaten him. In his time, he had seen people be consumed by their regret. They analyze every action and word from every angle and writhe in the agony of paths untaken. They fret about what others think of them and how they are perceived. He never understood it. What's done is done. 

He fought in a myriad of wars, killed until he lost count, blown up a nation, stole and lied and manipulated. He had lost friends, loved ones, pets all in order so that chaos could prevail and he could reign supreme. 

So, why did it hurt now?

 _“Just...say that you hate me…”_ The tears in George’s eyes. The way his voice cracked, holding back sobs. The _clink clink clink_ of his crown falling to the floor, rolling until it hits Dream’s feet.

 _“Dream doesn’t care about us. Come on. We don’t need him.”_ Dream never knew Sapnap could look so detached. He brought a hand to rest on George’s shoulder, comforting the man more than words could at the moment. Dream tried to reassure them, convince them that he still cared- _always_ cared, but he knew it was pointless. His words fell on deaf ears. His feet stayed rooted to the floor as he watched them leave, the castle doors falling shut behind them.

Dream never let people in close. If he had, it was out of the necessity of the moment, gaining an upper hand in whatever situation had caused it. George and Sapnap, however, had been different. For the first time, he shared his vulnerabilities more readily than trading cards, interlocking their hearts, searching for ways to keep the smiles on their faces. They took root in him in a way Dream had never let another soul do, feeling that they were his shelter and he theirs. He would have done anything to keep hearing their laughter- to keep their hands in his. But all Dream knew was violence and it was that violence that drove them away.

And, at the moment, the flash of anger that overcame him had protected him from the pain. He knew what he did was right. Dethroning George and returning the crown to Eret was the right choice. Using Sapnap as a knight in his game of chess was the right choice. He _knew that_. But ever since that day there was a pit sitting in his gut. Not even Tommy’s exilement had been enough to expel it. He put his focus on destroying the obsidian walls and that helped for a couple of days, but then they were abolished and the hole was back.

Now he sat atop a cliff overlooking the ocean that stretched past the eye could see, the lanterns that filled the skies of L’manburg flickering in the distance. Dream found himself here nearly every night now, unable to bring himself to step into the house that once had been filled with such life.

“Hello,” Dream subtly turns his head and, in the edge of his vision, he can see mustard yellow that stands out amongst the white sheet that has tucked itself onto the land. “May I join you?”

“Why aren’t you in L’manburg?” Is his reply. Ghostbur takes this as a ‘yes’ and moves to sit next to Dream, criss-cross with his hands resting on his lap, head turned upwards towards the skies. Dream watches, curiously, as the snowflakes falling straight through Ghostbur, his figure flickering. He had never met a ghost before and, as far as he knew, it was impossible in this cruel world of theirs for a ghost to come to being. Yet here Ghostbur was, smiling at Dream as he hadn’t led a war against his nation and helped usher him to his untimely death.

“Oh, I come here when I need to think,” Ghostbur says. He tilts his head and his body follows, now hovering sideways, the untamed curls that aren’t tucked under his beanie following the movement. “I met Sally up here, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.” Dream pointedly does not mention that he doesn’t know who Sally is.

“Yes, yes, I did. I met Sally up here- right on this very cliff.” For a moment, he doesn’t sound convinced, speaking as if he was retelling a story someone else had told him rather than from his memory.

“That’s nice.” He turns away, scooping the mask up from where it had been forgotten amongst the snow and grass, tightening the strap around his head, the familiar clay settling against his flushed skin, hugged close. Sapnap once told him that wearing the mask so tightly was bad for him. Dream used to laugh about it and wave off the concern. The memory stings, now, more than the wind.

“Yes, it is.” Ghostbur hums, now lying on his back with his face turned upwards, arms crossed behind his head, a leg thrown across a propped knee with his shoe relatively close to Dream’s head. “Why are you here?”

“...to think.” Comes Dream’s dry response. He doesn’t feel like talking, he’d rather sit by himself until the sun came up, but he can’t bring himself to tell Ghostbur. “I…” Is he seriously thinking of confiding in a ghost? He chuckles, a hand lifting to hover over his mouth. “I think I’m…”

“Lonely?” The two make eye contact. Ghostbur’s eyes are nothing but an endless void, yet Dream swears the ghost is staring into his soul, reading his emotions as if they were words written onto paper, a book all about Dream that was stored away with all the other books he kept close to his heart, to never forget of the world and its people around him. After a moment, he begins wringing grey, translucent hands together restlessly, eyes darting about the cliffside. “I come here when I feel lonely too.”

“Why?” Dream asks before he can stop himself. “You have L’manburg. All your friends live there. Your father. Your son. You still have people.” He can’t help the bite in his voice, the _jealousy_ that seeps into it.

“ _Wilbur’s_ friends,” Ghostbur says and begins to flicker, a red stain blooming across his chest, an open gash in his chest appearing where he had been stabbed to death and while black viscous liquid drips from his eyes, making him look like he was crying. When Dream blinks, though, it’s gone as if nothing happened, Ghostbur left looking lost. And for some irrational reason, Dream wanted to reach out and comfort him as he would with his friends- the others.

“They...nobody tells me anything. I know...I know Wilbur did something _horrible_ to them all, but they can’t... I- I wasn’t good enough to deserve a gravestone. But every time I ask what Wilbur did wrong, I forget. It’s just too sad. Because I’m not Wilbur- I’m not. But Tommy doesn’t stop screaming at me. Phil ignores me, and Techno is always hiding something. Tubbo...Tubbo is a good president, did you know that? He’s a good president. He just...compares us, a lot. And Fundy…my little champion...” Ghostbur trails off, the echo in his voice sounding worse, the black liquid dripping down his cheeks in large, cartoonish drops, slipping only to disappear in thin air never to reach the ground. “You- you know I’m not Wilbur, right?”

“I know, Ghostbur.”

“I- I didn’t do all those _horrible_ things, but I’ve done my best to make amends! I built L’manburg, did you know that? With my own two ghostly hands,” he waves his hands in emphasis. “And- and I’ve created a library to- to save the history of our nation. I even built a crane and a music stand and...and…” Dream watches Ghostbur dig through his pockets and pull out an odd blue stone, clutching it tightly in his hands. His crying(?) slows to a stop and he’s back to a calmer state in a matter of seconds. Ghostbur glances over to Dream once he was, eyes darting across the mask, trying to pick up on his emotions. “Are you sad too?”

“...” Dream turns away. Is he sad? He knows he feels guilty. He's _pretty_ sure he’s felt guilty before. He’s also apparently lonely, which was new, but is he sad? He could always find new friends- it wasn’t that hard. Nearly everyone wanted to be on his good side all he had to do was pick. _But they wouldn’t truly care about you,_ says a voice in the back of his mind. “...I guess so.”

“Here, then,” Ghostbur is sitting upright on his knees with his arms outstretched, the blue rock being held out on his hands, offered to Dream. He clutches the rock with the care a parent would with their child. “You need this more than I do.”

“What is this?” Dream can’t help the suspicion that falls over him, having built up his defenses over the years to the point that any ‘gift’ seemed to carry another, sinister, reason behind it. The easy, kind smile on Ghostbur’s face, however, never falters, either not noticing Dream’s apprehension or not caring, gently nudging his hands closer, urging Dream to take it.

“It’s blue-!” 

“I can see that.”

“-It starts transparent, and it sucks up _all_ your sadness which turns it blue!” He continues, ignoring Dream’s interruption. “Afterwards, you can toss it in the bin, or whatever you want!”

“...and you’re giving it to me?” He… doesn’t know what he should do. It would be rude _not_ to take it on the off chance he upsets Ghostbur, but this was just ridiculous. It was a _rock._ If a rock could get rid of some dumb sadness he would have gone mining ages ago.

“Yes! I give one to everyone who is sad.”

“I don’t deserve it.” Dream places his hand atop the stone and pushes it back toward Ghostbur. It’s true. Whatever sadness he’s feeling, it must be his fault, or else they wouldn’t have looked at him like that. 

_“He hates us.”_ Sapnap’s glossy eyes. George’s pained expression. They haunted him and, now, there was another sad face. Ghostbur’s face drops once the words are out, pulling his hands back as if physically struck.

“You...don’t want the blue..?” Ghostbur sounds lost, looking between the rock and Dream, unsure of what to do, his form flickering a few times.

“That’s not- just- give it to me.” Before the ghost could start crying that black liquid again, which he seemed to be on the verge of doing, Dream snatches the stone away. Once in his hands, the rock turns transparent just as Ghostbur said, reflecting Dream’s mask and those damn band-aids in its smooth surface. “So...how does this work?” He turns the ‘blue’ over a couple of times. In all his years, he had never heard about some magical sadness-go-away rock. Then again he didn’t know ghosts were possible.

“All you need is to hold the blue and it will whisk it all away!” Ghostbur hovers in closer, having rolled onto his stomach, hands cupped under his chin, casually kicking his legs back ‘n’ forth in the air. 

It was odd seeing Ghostbur act so casual- childish, even- while his living counterpart had been so fiery up till his final moments. Dream could see why the stark change was taking the others longer to adjust. But for Dream, who had made a point not to associate with L’manburg unless out of necessity, this was an easy adaptation. If anything, Ghostbur was a lot like George and Sapnap if Dream thought about. He had George’s youthful innocence and genuine compassion and Sapnap’s admirable passion and cheekiness with his own Wilbur twist. It was refreshing.

“Alright then…” He mumbles and turns his attention back to the stone. _Hold the rock, huh?_ It sounded easy enough, but Dream didn’t have the slightest clue on how this would work. The only other time he had been sad was when Spirit died, and back then Sapnap and George were there to help him through it. 

Did they know Tommy had his remains? Were they the ones who gave him it? No- no, they would never betray him like that. But...he had done that to Sapnap.

 _“You gave him Mars?!”_ The pain in his voice, the clear heartbreak in his eyes, his hand clutching his shirt, curled so tightly his knuckles went white. Had that been what kicked off the race? He just couldn’t _understand_ . Everything he did was to help them- was _for_ them. The war against L’manburg, Mars, the deal with Wilbur, the obsidian walls, Tommy’s exile, the dethroning. And yet they looked to him as if he was a _monster._

“See! It works!” Ghostbur’s excited voice snaps Dream back to reality. The once transparent stone in his hands is now a vibrant blue, vividly standing out against the black gloves he wore to hide his numerous battle scars. Underneath his mask, his cheeks were wet and his eyes burned. Was he crying just a moment ago? Usually, when Dream felt like crying he managed to stifle his emotions rather than let them show. 

“Dream..?” The excitement in Ghostbur’s voice has shifted into something sadder, a cold hand settling onto Dream’s shoulder, Ghostbur staring with such worry and concern that it made Dream’s heart _ache._ He nearly sobbed at such a simple pat, having forgotten what it was like to feel another person’s touch that wasn’t a punch to the face. Even if it was a ghost.

“I…” _I miss them. I want them back in my life. I didn’t mean any of it._ “Thank you. For this, um, Ghostbur.” Dream clears his throat, sounding as emotionally detached as he could, subtly wiping his face from under his mask and getting to his feet. “I’ll, um.” He looks to the blue stone in his hands, stark proof that the heart in his chest was still beating, still feeling. _I’m not a monster._ “I’ll keep this. To remind me of tonight.”

“Okay,” he’s smiling again. The pit in Dream’s stomach lifts somewhat at the sight. At least he could still make someone smile. His silence must have given the wrong signal because Ghostbur looks concerned again. “I have more blue if you’re still sad.” Ghostbur reaches for his pocket again.

“No- no, I’m alright,” Dream chuckles, feeling the lightest he has in days, reaching out to grasp Ghostbur’s wrist, stopping him from grabbing more stones. His cheeks are still wet and his ears burn from the cold, but he can’t stop smiling. “This one was enough.” The guilt still lingers, but it isn’t as severe as it had been earlier. He could manage.

“Oh, alright,” Ghostbur says easily, eyeing the hand that was still grasping his wrist. Wordlessly, Ghostbur gently takes Dream’s hand and grasps it with his other, entwining their fingers together, sitting criss-cross once again and staring up into the sky. “It’s almost Christmas, did you know?”

“Yeah-” he swallows away the lump in his throat. Dream cautiously squeezes Ghostbur’s hand, unable to understand how someone could be so comfortable with throwing around affection. It took him months to get comfortable enough with George and Sapnap not to attack them when they touched him. Is this what they called growth? “Yeah, I did. L’manburg built a tree, didn’t they? I think Tubbo mentioned it to me.”

“Yes!” The ghost to his side brightens, squeezing Dream’s hand back, a silent _I won’t let go_ being said. He soon falls into a long explanation on how Philza and Ghostbur worked on building the tree and how Quackity helped build the ornaments, how it was all Tubbo’s idea to bring them all together after everything that has happened, how Niki and Fundy have been practicing baking Christmas themed desserts with Ranboo acting as taste-tester. 

Dream leans back on his free hand, listening in comfortable silence other than a couple of hmm’s of acknowledgment. It was nice. He couldn’t understand how the others felt uncomfortable around Ghostbur- he just made everything so tolerable. Up here, on this cliff, underneath the gentle snowfall, Dream let himself forget about the others, about the wars and the conflicts going on. It was just the two of them, a torch sitting between them with soft flames dancing in the wind.

“Will you come back here tomorrow night?” Ghostbur asks suddenly, a hopeful expression written across his face, a metaphorical heart held on his sleeve.

“Yes- Yes, I will.” Dream promises. Ghostbur breaks out into a grin.

“As Tommy would say; poggers!” He claps his hands together, forgetting they were still holding hands and ending up clapping with Dream’s hand as well. “Oh. Shit.” The blunt delivery has Dream laughing again, doubling over and clutching his gut as he wheezes.

Maybe he could let himself be vulnerable again if only so Ghostbur could keep on smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> hihi!! i wasn't originally gonna post this but my friend insisted so here I am! ghostbur is my favorite character in dsmp and I find dream's character just so damn interesting that i wondered how a solo interaction between them would go  
> make sure to like comment and subscribe uwu  
> also subscribe to technoblade
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/H0bblyW0bbly)


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